Not Your Average Fairy Tale
by PurplePatchwork
Summary: When Alfred wakes up one morning and finds himself to have transformed into a Mochi, there is only one person who can kiss it better. Canonverse & Mochimerica, with elements from the fairy tale The Frog Prince.


Not Your Average Fairy Tale

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE**

This story was written as a commission for milkmaidartist over on tumblr.

~o~

Alfred slowly woke from a deep and peaceful slumber with what felt like the beginnings of a major headache. He groaned a little, blinking his bright blue eyes against the waning daylight creeping in from under the curtains. He tried to remember what had caused this feeling of unease; perhaps a drinking game with the guys, some political technicalities that were bothering him, or maybe he had been staring at his computer screen a little too intensely? Nothing immediately came up. He tried looking for his glasses, but they were either lying too far away or his vision was extra blurry this particular morning. Looking the other way, however, was reason enough for his consciousness to shoot into a more wakeful state of mind. After all, it didn't happen every morning that one woke up right next to what looked and sounded like a mountain of flesh, each rumbling snore vibrating through that body like a minor earthquake.

Alfred gave a shriek he'd rather not admit to being capable of producing, body trembling as adrenaline shot through his veins. There was a giant in his bed, a real-life giant! Complete with soft platinum-coloured locks and a scarf and—and…

Alfred blinked in stupefaction as the snoring was interrupted, his supposed giant groaning as he, too, crawled from the muddy sea that was the unconscious territory. " _Russia_?! What the fuck are you doing in _my_ bed?" he squeaked, surprised agitation quickly replaced by indignant anger. His personal room in this hotel should have been a Russian-free zone, not a oh-hi-welcome-come-on-in-and-use-my-bed-while-you're-at-it drive-in!

The mountain stirred again, and Alfred could hear a noncommittal grunt. "Cease your whining," that deep voice came, heavily accented with sleep. "It is too early for that."

Alfred only felt his disbelief rise and rise, soon spilling over. Un-believable! Russia was actually just going to keep lying there like he owned the place, like he had been _fucking invited in_ , as if…but no—a quick scan of the other's state of being told Alfred enough; the sudden thought invading him had been just that, a thought. There were too many clothes present for anything like _that_ to have happened.

Alfred breathed in deeply. "Okay, get out! This is my room! What are you even _doing_ here?!" Being a giant, at that.

A movement, indicating something like a shrug. "I must have walked into the wrong room last night. 'No big deal', as you Americans say."

"It IS a big deal!" Alfred continued, wanting to give the other a shove, but somehow finding himself incapable of doing so, his arms temporarily not cooperating. "I want you to look me right in the eye and tell me with a straight face that it is _normal_ for you to just get into my bed like that!"

He could practically hear the eye-roll. The mountain moved again—and had it been established yet why Ivan looked so supersized this morning?—until tired violet eyes and a grumpy expression were facing him, mouth already parted to speak. Only to immediately snap shut again. Russia's eyes grew almost comically wide, which was sort of strange given their current situation. To Alfred, there was nothing humorous about all this. He wasn't the kind of guy to share his bed with…with types like Ivan. Non-friends, former friends perhaps, but nowadays they only succeeded in pissing one another off. Especially by crawling into the wrong bed.

"Al…Amerika?" his companion asked, still wearing that stupid expression that would have been cute on other faces, but not on this one, because the question spilling from those thin lips was only adding to the confusion.

"Um, yeah?" Alfred said, impatiently clacking his tongue. "Who else would it be?"

The other shook his head. "This is impossible…I must still be drunk. _Da_. No other explanation."

"Uh, hello?" Alfred snapped, about fed up with all this. "What's the fucking problem?"

Those eyes immediately shot back with them again, recognition dilating the pupils. "It really _is_ you." No one else had that voice.

"Who ELSE would it be?" Drunk? More like insane.

Ivan shook his head. "You do not…feel different?"

Alfred shrugged, or at least tried to. Maybe he was drunk as well. Maybe that's what had happened—one big drinking fest, and then Alfred had collapsed onto his bed, and Ivan had somehow wandered into the wrong room and thought it was his, and that's why they were now both acting like idiots. Or at least the Ruski was; Alfred just had a growing headache in the back of his head, thumping against his skull. Or at least, he thought it was his skull, it all felt a bit…softer. Or something.

The Russian giant wordlessly sat up, left for just a few seconds, and came back with a mirror. Expression dead-serious, he flipped the object over, squatting down so he could hold it in front of Alfred.

"Yeah, I can't see it that well without my glasses," Alfred complained, Russia letting out a small "ah" noise, leaving his peripheral sphere for just a moment, then returning with his beloved spectacles. Alfred didn't particularly care for anyone other than him touching his glasses, but Ivan managed to put them on with surprising delicacy and care. Alfred blinked. "Uh…thanks." And then he looked at his mirror-world counterpart.

Something…white and blobby was staring right back. Alfred blinked again, so did the creature. For a moment he thought he was staring at a ghost, but ghosts didn't look that, that…solid. Round. Soft. And they didn't have _his_ eyes, or _his_ cowlick. Or a pair of glasses, for that matter. The only solution, was to scream. Again.

"Amerika— _stoj_ , stop it, your voice is breaking my ears…Alfred!" He always fell back to that name, no matter what happened. They had been too used to calling each other by their first name to simply drop the habit, even though lately, they preferred a venomously sweet mangling of their country's address.

Alfred did stop, however, lip quivering, eyes watery, an almost automatic display of the puppy face his muscles had come to remember. It looked quite horrific on a…whatever he was. Ivan stared at him for a moment, before bringing up his hands to massage his temples. Perhaps he was starting to get a headache as well.

"Do you…know how this happened?" the Russian asked, obviously not really all that happy about being pulled into this. Well, he shouldn't have made Alfred's bed his own if he wanted to be left out!

"Know how it happened? I don't even know WHAT I am!" Alfred shouted, drawing another pained groan from his uninvited guest. However, now that he thought about it, he did look a suspicious lot like those things Kiku sometimes brought along for lunch…what were they called again… Mosis? Mocca? Machu Pichu?

Ivan was starting to look rather annoyed, although Alfred could see a hint of mocking pleasure in his eyes. Apparently Alfred's misery was funny to Ivan after all.

"Oh look, there is piece of paper on your nightstand." Ivan pointed, but since Alfred no longer had a neck, he couldn't look behind him. This had to be by far the weirdest situation he'd ever gotten himself into, weirder than the one time he'd been chased through the White House wearing only a pair of panties, or the other time when Tony had asked him if he could use Alfred for experimentation and Alfred had seen himself forced to establish a couple of house rules (anal probes were a big no-no, for example).

Ivan seemed to be in a helpful mood today, or maybe he was just amusing himself at this point. He rose again, grabbing the paper, laying it in front of Mochi Alfred. "I trust you can still read?" Ivan asked, chuckling when he got a delicious scowl from his strange companion. Alfred mentally adjusted his glasses, already starting to miss his hands, and began reading.

 _America._

Oh boy. He must've done something wrong. No "dear", no "Alfred", just a plain ol' "America".

 _America._

 _Since you may not remember last night's events, let me clear things up for you. You really went overboard this time. Not only did you behave like a complete baboon, you INSULTED my culture, and therefore your own heritage, to the highest degree, you humiliated me before your oh-so beloved president, and worst of all, you nearly gave the Queen a heart attack! You should be lucky if by tomorrow morning, I have sorted things out and will have managed to salvage the situation._

Then came some long parts about how good the writer's country was, which was boring, so Alfred decided to skip some text.

 _Thus I have decided to transform you, so that at least you cannot make the situation any worse. You should be a smart boy for once, and try to stay under the radar for a little while. Since I know you are impatient, I doubt things will remain peaceful for long. Hence, I built in a little fail-safe: if you so desire to turn back to your original form, and would not like to wait until I have forgiven you and turn you back myself, there is a way, but only one. A kiss on the lips. It sounds simple, doesn't it? But here's the catch. The kiss can only come from someone you would never ask a kiss from. I trust in your ability to at least figure that much out. This may seem harsh, but you need to be taught a lesson. Let us hope you learn something from this. I will drop by tomorrow. Probably._

 _Arthur Kirkland, The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland_

"God fucking dammit!" Alfred was NOT amused. "Seriously?! Artie turns me into this, this _thing_ , just because I made myself look stupid or something? Come on dude!"

"It does seem rather severe," Ivan said, nodding. "After all, you make a fool out of yourself all the time."

Alfred wished he had fists so he could plant one into Ivan's smug little grin. He still couldn't believe this happened. What was Arthur even thinking?! He was a _nation_ , he had responsibilities to attend to! He couldn't just be turned into some white blob and then everything would be peachy! Oh no, Arthur hadn't heard the last of this.

"Well, it seems you are stuck, little American. After all, who would willingly kiss you?"

But it wasn't about being willing, was it? The letter clearly said so. And in that moment, it hit him.

"Hey, why don't you kiss me?" The question had left his mouth before any further thought could be given into the implications, or the consequences, or the mere fact that he, Alfred F. Jones, was asking _him_ , Ivan Braginsky, personification of the Russian Federation, for a peck on the lips. (Did he even have any lips left?)

Ivan stared at him for a long and pregnant moment, long enough to make it dawn upon Alfred. He was just about to take his words back, when the Russian let out a single bark of laughter.

"I am not going to—to _kiss_ a little edible monstrosity! In fact, I would sooner eat you up than kiss you!" Still chuckling, Ivan began standing up.

Well, no taking it back now. Especially not after Ivan had laughed about them, as if he'd just said the stupidest thing, ever. Which, admittedly, he might as well have, but that didn't mean Alfred was simply going to sit (lie?) there and take it!

"Well, why not?" Alfred huffed, happy when he didn't feel his cheeks heating up; maybe he couldn't blush while in this state? "The letter clearly says that I have to kiss someone I don't want to kiss, so you're the perfect candidate."

A single eyebrow rose, Ivan coolly staring down at the younger nation. "No, Amerika."

Alfred spluttered, protesting to the notion of simply being denied freedom from this immortal coil. "But—"

"No."

"But you—"

" _Nyet._ "

"Come on, just real quick and then I can—"

"Alfred!" Ivan growled, once again raising his voice. Alfred had always hated how his name sounded when grounded out like that, so counter-intuitive to his true nature. "Let me rephrase: I will not kiss _you._ Why should I? What have you done for me that deserves you being helped by me?"

Alfred opened his mouth and closed it again, several times, like a fish gasping for water. "But you have to!" he finally managed to exclaim, starting to feel a little desperate. "I'm a country! If—if you don't do this, I'll—"

"You will _what_ , Alfred?" Ooooh, Alfred did NOT like that look. "You will 'tell on me'? Go all the way to the United States, the way you are now—" Ivan gestured at Alfred, the other swallowing as he realised he couldn't just march out of here, lacking limbs or _an entire human body_. "—walk up to your boss, and cry about me not wanting to kiss you? Is there anything at all about that plan that sounds like a good idea to you, that sounds like thing you would actually tell your president?"

Ivan paused a moment to let it all sink in, to let Alfred fully understand how dire his situation was. He was…a blob. That was the best word to describe his current appearance. Completely dependable upon others to help him. The only thing he _could_ possibly do, was scream until one of the maids or other staff members found him, try and get them not to faint, have them bring him to the airport, be escorted all the way to the States, have someone bring him to the White House and, and…and all that while looking like this. He'd sooner end up in the circus or a bowl of soup than at his desired destination. He really didn't have a choice.

"Okay, I can't do that," Alfred finally admitted, forcing it out as if he could die if it was spoken too loudly. "But that is why you _have_ to—"

"I," Ivan interrupted him, "do not have to do anything." There was that cocky grin again, smug and despicable, all hooded eyes and curling lips. "You brought this upon yourself, my tiny friend. You got yourself into this mess, you can get yourself out. I will let myself out after I have cleaned up a bit." Giggling like a maniac, Ivan disappeared into Alfred's bathroom, locking the door behind him. As if Alfred could barge in after him in his current state.

"Wait!" Alfred yelled, both angry and frustrated, ready to wallow in self-pity. "You can't just do this to me! Come back here, you son of a bitch!" Good, at least he could still produce the same amount of volume as his human self could.

Alfred wriggled a bit, heart skipping a beat in delight when he found that he could in fact move—it was a sort of wobbling, half-rolling, shuffling forward with non-existing feet. But hey, it was something. _Watch out, Ivan Braginsky, here I come_! Like a soldier leaving for war, determined to give his life for his country, Alfred set to moving towards the bathroom door. To a soft background melody of streaming water and Russian teeth-brushing, Alfred floundered, wriggled and shimmied as if his life depended on it, which might as well be the case. If Ivan was simply going to leave him here, who else would help him? Who would help him explore the outside world, aid him in achieving his dreams, feed him when his stomach gurgled—oh GOD, could he even eat food in this form?

"Ivan motherfucking Braginsky, you come out of there right now!" Alfred was panting just a little, but the edge of the mattress was in sight. Oh divine progress! He could almost smell his freedom, so close was he.

"I'm gonna get you to kiss me, whether you like it or not!" Not that _he_ actually WANTED Ivan to kiss him, but it had to be done. For the greater good of returning to his favourite body, his tanned and freckled skin, his strong arms and kicking feet, white teeth and wheat-coloured hair. It had only been a couple of hours, and already he was missing himself.

Alfred finally managed to writhe his way to the mattress' boundaries. Taking a peek, it almost resembled the brink of a great abyss, the floor dancing oh so far beneath him, mocking him with its wooden crevices. But Alfred was a brave explorer, the Mochi among Mochis! He wasn't going to let some small drop down scare him away from his goal, kissing Ivan—of course ultimately leading to regaining his former body.

He wriggled another small bit. The world tilted. And suddenly the floor wasn't as far away anymore.

"OW! For the love of—"

Alfred had been about to empty his entire bag of curses, when he realised it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. In fact, the only thing askew were his glasses, no bones left in his mass to be broken or bent. There was a silver lining to this whole ordeal after all.

Ivan opened the door as Alfred managed to roll onto his side, a bit taken aback to find the blob at his feet. He quickly recovered though, as he always did. "Aw, does the little Amerikanski want to be below me so badly? How cute."

Alfred let out some angry noises and curses that no one should have to listen to, thus they will not be translated. They only succeeded in making Ivan giggle again, carefully stepping over Alfred, dress once again spick and span. "I will leave you to your own devices now. Have fun being a tiny monstrosity, comrade!"

Alfred finally began to panic when he saw Ivan heading for the door. "No, wait! You can't do this to me, you have to help!"

"I cannot hear you~" Ivan laughed in a sing-song voice, opening the door.

"Come on, no one is _that_ cruel, not even you!"

"I am flattered by your high opinion of me, but this is far too amusing to do anything about it." Ivan looked over his shoulder for a final smile, derogatory in every way. Then he left.

Alfred's breath caught in his throat for just a moment. He really should have expected no less from that scumbag, and yet…and yet he had held on to a sliver of hope. For whatever reason. Now his hope had waltzed right out of the room, not even batting an eye.

"No…NO! Come back here, you have to take me with you!" He could still hear footsteps if he listened carefully. "Jesus—IVAN! Don't let me lying on the ground like this! Okay, you don't have to kiss me, but you _at least_ have to take me with you!" He couldn't believe he was reduced to begging. And Russia, of all people! Alfred was feeling quite miserable.

"Ivan, pleeeeeeaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Come back!" No sound could be heard. He was alone. Alfred bit his lip, or lower part of his mouth, or whatever. It didn't matter. He was abandoned. Ivan had turned his back on him (and not for the first time).

 _He could still see that sorrowful look in his eyes, see his mouth form the words without actually hearing them. All those years of friendship, and for what? Whispers that felt like a slap in the face, a broad back and floating scarf, walking away from him, ruining everything._

Alfred's eyes widened when he heard the footsteps again, this time coming closer and closer instead of slowly distancing himself. His heart sped up when Ivan finally appeared in the doorway, one hand pinching his nose, a vein thumping somewhere near his temple.

"I do not know why I am doing this," Ivan mumbled to himself, and those were the sweetest sounds Alfred had ever heard.

~o~

"Ivan, I can't breathe!"

"I did not know misfits of nature needed to breathe."

"Ivan, I _swear_ to God—"

Alfred gasped for breath when Ivan finally grew annoyed with his wining and released him from his prison, which was Ivan's pocket. Ivan sported a look of distaste, feeling the weight of Alfred's new body in his hand as Alfred made a show of getting as much oxygen into his…lungs, as possible.

"Ready to go back in?" Ivan asked sweetly, leering, hand once again moving towards the pocket of his favourite oversized trench coat.

"Wait! You can't close it anymore, okay?"

Ivan rolled his eyes, with Alfred took as an "okay fine". "And it would be nice if I could look outside for a bit," Alfred continued, deciding that if Ivan was going to be annoying, so was he. "Can't you like, cut windows from the fabric?"

"I am _not_ cutting holes in my coat, Alfred," Ivan patiently brought out, teeth grinding together. "I could also just squeeze you. Problem solved." His hand began closing, only opening when Alfred tried biting him. "What was that pathetic excuse for a nibble?"

"So I don't have teeth, not my fault," Alfred mumbled sullenly, pouting. Great. He had absolutely zero ways of defending himself from Ivan's abuse. "Can't we just, like, get on with it?"

Ivan put Alfred back in the pocket, but left it open for air. How considerate of him. "What exactly was your ingenious master plan?"

"Well, if _you_ don't wanna kiss me, we gotta find someone else. Go ask the dude at the counter if any of the other nations are still in the hotel!" He prayed they were; it would be hard chasing everyone back to their homes.

Ivan mumbled something under his breath, Alfred hearing something along the lines of "I have to do everything around here", as if they were a married couple or something. Heh. AS IF. As if that would ever happen… Alfred was once again glad he couldn't blush in this form. No need to betray such stupid thoughts by a discolouring of the cheeks.

While Ivan spoke to "the dude at the counter", Alfred looked around, finding himself surrounded by several objects inside Ivan's pocket. There was a flask of vodka (no duh), some loose buttons for whatever reason, a handkerchief with flower print and the initials N.A., and…huh. Something that looked like a picture. Old and faded, hard to see in the dark atmosphere of Ivan's pocket. But Alfred swore that, when he squinted, he could make out two figures, one medium-sized one tall, standing hand in hand, looking straight at the camera…

Before Alfred could further explore the photo, they were on the move again, the items sloshing around with each heavy step. He wished Ivan would be a little more careful. Didn't he care about Alfred's safety at all? He subdued the urge to start biting again when a hand came his way, instead sighing in frustration as he was manhandled, pulled out of his little nest against his will, brought up to eye level with his captor.

"I have good news and bad news."

Alfred nodded, remembered he couldn't nod. "Okay. Bad news first."

"Everyone is gone."

Alfred's eye twitched. "Good news?" he asked, voice strangely squeaky as he attempted to suppress the biggest "fuck" the world had ever heard.

"Good news," Ivan continued, smirking at Alfred's distress, or it could be a comforting smile if you tilted your head and stood on your hands. "Is that the last person checked out of here not even fifteen minutes ago, so we might be able to catch them at the airport if we hurry." It was funny how he kept saying "we", as if Alfred could actually do anything, as if there had ever been a "we".

Alfred bobbed his body. "Well, then what are we waiting for? Let's go! Oh, uh, who uh, who is that we're chasing?"

Ivan chuckled, and for the third time that day, Alfred blessed his new anti-blushing powers. "Do not worry, Amerikanski. It is simply our Danish colleague, Mathias. As far as I know, you have never wanted to kiss him, so he would perfectly fit the requirements. And I suppose he could be crazy enough to listen to your request."

"Okay, right. Perfect. Let's go then!" Alfred felt both excited (he was going to become himself again!) and…and a little disappointed, for whatever reason. Surely he had indeed never thought about kissing Mathias, and would therefore never ask him, but he had also NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT KISSING MATHIAS. There was a reason for that. He didn't _like_ Mathias in that way, he liked—

"Taxi!" Ivan put up his hand (the one not holding Alfred), successfully getting a car to stop. "To the airport please," he said hurriedly, stepping in the back so he could speak with Alfred while making it seem like he was talking on his phone.

"Do not worry, tiny monstrosity, we will get you that kiss you so desire," Ivan reassured his captive, patting it softly on the head, using only two fingers.

"Can you stop calling me a monster?" Alfred sighed, agitated. "I'm still Alfred, you know."

Ivan frowned lightly, tilting his head to the left, then to the right. "I suppose you are… You do still have that idiotic sprig of hair." He flipped it with a finger, giggling when Alfred growled. "Have you ever thought about simply cutting it off?"

"WHAT?!"

Ivan quickly coughed into his hand, smiling at the driver, who was sending him some disturbed looks through the rear-view mirror. He sent a reprimanding look at Alfred, who stuck his tongue out in reply.

"That's not happening," the latter continued, voice dropping to a whisper so as not to alarm the driver again. "I wouldn't ask you to burn your scarf either."

Ivan's hand immediately shot to the aforementioned piece of clothing, expression fitting somebody whose mother had just been gravely insulted. Alfred cocked an eyebrow, as if to say "see?"

Ivan raised his eyes to the heavens, before looking back down. "That is different. My scarf is detachable, not a real part of my body."

"All the more reason I'm not cutting it off, since my hair _is_ a part of my physical form. Now drop the issue." His voice held a note of finality, and for once, a miracle in its own right, Ivan didn't try to push him.

They sat in silence for a small while, Ivan looking straight ahead, maintaining the uppermost concentration. Alfred lay in his hand, squirming around a bit, too low to look out the window, forced to simply lie there, in the palm of that cold hand…

"Why are your hands cold?"

"Hmm?" Ivan blinked down at him, as if Alfred had taken him by surprise by suddenly speaking up.

"You know. Your hands. They're always cold, no matter how hot it is outside."

Ivan stared at him for a moment, expression curious, and Alfred was just beginning to wonder if perhaps it was weird for him to notice such things (after all, how long had it been since they held hands, actually held hands), when Ivan finally spoke.

"They have always been like that. I think… Well, if you put it this way: our souls are connected to the hearts of our people, and our bodies are bound to the physical earth, _da_?"

"…Right…" Alfred kind of understood what he was getting at, but why was he getting all philosophical for no reason?

"Well, since our bodies are mortal, if only to a certain degree, we can say that they are supposed to represent the land our people live on. The mountains, the river, the very ground they walk on. You follow?"

"Yeah, I do, actually," Alfred said, wishing he could nod, relieved when this didn't earn him another chiding remark or a "good boy knows how to think". "So you're saying that, your hands are cold because…because they're linked to Siberia?"

Ivan nodded. "Well, that does not mean my hands _are_ Siberia, but at least some part of me has to represent the colder areas, do you not agree?"

Alfred chuckled. "Guess that's why I'm so hot? You get it? Because of my la—OW!"

Alfred pulled many indignant faces as he was once again stuffed into the pocket after having been squeezed, Ivan sending another toothy grin at the driver. Luckily they were nearing the airport, so if they were going to be thrown out of the car, at least Ivan could walk him the last part of the road.

"I was just joking! You know jokes right? Ha-ha and all?"

"Yes, Alfred, I know jokes," Ivan sighed. "But I do not always find yours that funny."

"Good, because the same goes for me and your jokes." Lies—he could actually very much appreciate Ivan's dark humour, but nowadays it was mostly aimed at _him_ , which made it less enjoyable.

The driver pulled over, Ivan paid, and into the building they went, Alfred being a ball of joy as he sat inside Ivan's pocket. This time, he got to have a better look at the picture. This time, a memory finally resurfaced. How could he not immediately have recognized this moment?

Ivan walked with a certain purposefulness in his step, scanning the electronic board in the main hall, then following the correct route. They only had to get to the security gates before Mathias got through them, because Ivan didn't feel like chasing the Dane all the way into his plane. Besides, he _always_ got picked out to be patted down.

"I think I see him," Ivan said, speeding up his step, getting Alfred out, keeping him at the ready.

"Hey Ivan?"

" _Da_?" the tall ashen blond asked, very distractedly.

"Why do you have that picture in your pocket?"

" _Chto_?"

"That picture. From before…before we started fighting. The first picture we ever got taken together. Why do you keep it in your pocket?"

Ivan slowed down, came to a complete halt. Frowned deeply. Mathias could be seen loading his bag onto the conveyor belt. Only then did Alfred notice him.

"Oh hey, there he is! Quick, we can still catch him!"

Ivan didn't move. Alfred looked up.

"Hey, earth to Ivan? You're letting him get away! Remember my master plan? Get a move on, big guy!" He hadn't used that term of endearment for years…centuries, even.

Ivan slowly began walking again, mind both a blank canvas and a buzzing cloud of thoughts, the sound of Alfred's "encouragements" barely registering. Violet eyes watched as Mathias stepped through the metal detector, picked up his bag at the other side…left.

"You let him get away! Why'd you do that?!"

Ivan stopped again, expression unreadable. "Why did you ask about the picture?" he then whispered, Alfred needing to strain his ears to catch it all.

The American opened his mouth. Closed it. "I…" He didn't have a specific answer. "I just… Why didn't you answer?" It wasn't a big deal, right? Just a simple question, requesting a simple answer. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe Ivan had just forgotten to remove it, maybe he needed something to spit his chewed-up gum into, maybe he used it for knife-throwing practice, or…

Or maybe, just maybe…

Ivan turned around, fingers closing above Alfred, forming a small cage around him. "Where are we going?" he demanded.

Ivan shook his head. Took him outside, away from the airport. Alfred kept asking and asking, never receiving a reply. Until finally, when Ivan took him in some back alleyway, dark and hidden from sight, it began to dawn upon him.

Ivan wasn't going to…get rid of him, was he?

Alfred tried not to let his fear shine through, eyes blazing with defiance as Ivan finally came to a halt, once again opening his fingers, looking at his prey as he brought him to eye level.

"Why'd you take me here? Why didn't you call for Mathias? You could've easily reached him!"

"I am tired of your whining," Ivan said softly, something dangerous to his voice, but also something else, something…like a deep, hidden desire, a longing that made Alfred's stomach flutter (if that even was his stomach), the small blob squirming about as Ivan brought him closer to his face.

"The joke is no longer funny. I am putting an end to this now."

"Joke? What jo—"

Ivan was kissing him. Even though he had said that he would never kiss a creature like him, even though he said he would never kiss _him_ , he was doing it anyway, right here, right now, lips gently touching his small mouth, eyes closed, eyebrows scrunched together. Alfred's eyes were wide and disbelieving, completely taken by surprise, a strange jolt rippling through him at the touch. Even as he could feel his body starting transformation, expanding, stretching and reforming, he only had eyes for that face, that stupidly beautiful face, right in front of him, pressed against him, so close he could feel those eyelashes flutter over his cheeks, their noses sliding together, lips catching on tongue as Alfred finally let his eyes flutter shut, hands instinctively shooting up to tangle themselves into those snowy bangs, pangs of heat shooting from his sensitive lips all the way down to his toes.

Ivan was still kissing him. Even after the transformation was complete (Alfred could feel it was, feet touching the ground, once again in control of every vein and muscle and organ), they somehow found themselves incapable of moving away, of breaking apart, because having to look at one another would mean destroying the magic, facing reality, admitting that this wasn't normal behaviour for them. Admitting that they didn't crave this, like a child needed its mother, like every living creature desired oxygen, filling their lungs, their blood, their everything. They would have to admit that they had craved this for a long time now, that they had been hurt, so badly, over and over, that all this couldn't just be kissed better. But in that one moment, neither of them cared, because it just felt so good, to be alive, to taste and touch and feel.

They only broke apart when someone gave them a wolf-whistle, and only then did Alfred realise that he wasn't exactly…

"Clothes," he hissed, hands shooting down to cover up, and this time, his cheeks _did_ colour a dark red.

Ivan looked down slowly, letting his gaze linger just a moment too long, before nodding. He took off the coat in which Alfred had made his home for a couple of hours, and slung it over his companion's shoulders. Alfred thankfully hid inside, for once happy that Ivan always seemed to prefer his clothes two sizes too big.

The walk back to the hotel was silent, neither of them wanting to comment on what had just transpired, neither of them knowing exactly how to go on. At one point, Alfred was forced to jump onto Ivan's back and be carried the rest of the way, feet both dirty and slightly injured from darting over the cluttered sidewalk. Alfred didn't say anything, but he allowed himself just one moment, burying his nose into that ever-present scarf, breathing in deeply. And while he didn't immediately say anything, as the distinct scent of pine trees, of chamomile and sugar and smoke and damp earth filled his nose, he made a decision, right then and there.

Ivan walked into the hotel, ignored the stares they got, took the elevator to the second floor. Walked to Alfred's bedroom door, stopped. Pushed it open with his hip, remembering they hadn't locked it earlier. Carefully deposited Alfred onto the bed. Turned around, as if not ready to look at him, not ready to end the moment, even though it had already ended when their kiss was cut short.

"I will…I will get something to take care of your feet."

"Wait," Alfred said, grabbing Ivan's sleeve, forcing him to turn around. Ivan did so, sullenly, but kept his gaze on some point behind Alfred, expression void of emotion. Alfred breathed in deeply.

"So uh…I owe you one."

Ivan snorted, a cynical sound, but Alfred put up his hand, wanting to finish. "Let me buy you a coffee. And dinner." He swallowed harshly. "I wanna…talk. For a bit."

"We have never been good at talk—" Ivan paused, finally looked at him. "You mean, like a date?"

Oh, treacherous cheeks. "Yeah." Another gulp. "Like a date."

Ivan folded his hands together, let his façade slip for just a moment, seeming childishly excited, both nervous and delighted. Then his face hardened. "It will never work. Too much history."

"Or not enough, or exactly the right amount," Alfred growled, rising to his feet, only to be pushed back down by that annoying overly-concerned— "See? You _do_ care."

Ivan's eyebrows shot up.

"You don't want me to hurt my feet. You only like my pain when _you_ are the one to inflict it."

Eyebrows came down again in a heavy frown, that tall man growing even more rigid. But now it had something defiant, as if he was trying to deny the obvious truth.

"You keep that picture because you _do_ remember the good times."

"That is in the past." Was it just him, or did Ivan sound pouty?

"You even came to _my_ room, thinking it was yours, last night."

"That was just a coincidence."

"Okay, maybe that one was far-stretched, but you can't deny it! You _were_ the one to kiss me, after all."

Alfred felt victorious when finally, he saw those marble cheeks tinge a faint pink. He was right.

"Ivan, why should we deny ourselves this? Let's just…give it a shot. If it ends up sucking, then so be it, but at least then we can say we tried, and we don't have to wonder about what could have been."

Ivan sighed, deeply, and Alfred knew he had won.

"When did you get so eloquent?"

Alfred grinned widely. "So it's a date?" he asked, holding out his hand, feeling all giddy inside. He should thank Arthur later.

Ivan sighed again, looked away, as if someone was going to jump out and tell him this was just a prank, or a dream, or anything at all, but then he admitted defeat. Placed his hand in Alfred's, allowed a small smile.

" _Da._ It is…a date."


End file.
